


I had you for my yesterdays. I want you for my tomorrows.

by DelilahMcMuffin



Category: Schitt's Creek (TV) RPF
Genre: Did I mention pining?, Emotional Hurt, Feelings, First Meetings, Friends To Lovers Again, Friends to Lovers, Hope, Light Angst, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Strangers to Friends, Unrequited Love, because there is so much pining, dandrew, idiots who pine for one another, so many feeings, timey-wimey hand waving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29306028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelilahMcMuffin/pseuds/DelilahMcMuffin
Summary: Despite the fact that a decade has passed, Andrew likes that he still knows these things about Dan. That they’re a constant, something he can count on. It wasn’t always that way between them. It wasn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it was painful. Sometimes it was infuriating. But that was a long time ago, and they were both young and stupid.Or:Thestrangers-to-friends-to-lovers-to-friends-to-maybe-lovers-againDandrew fic that at least three people asked for.
Relationships: Dan Levy/Andrew Cividino
Comments: 29
Kudos: 31
Collections: RPFebruary Prompt Fest





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [rpfebpromptfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/rpfebpromptfest) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Dan and Andrew meet at Film School. Enemies to Lovers AU. Study time leads to??? Any rating, but wouldn't sexy times be fun?
> 
>  **Author's note:** So, I kind of side-stepped the whole _enemies to lovers_ part. I hope this will do. I have a feeling you won't mind 🥰
> 
> Mind the tags. This is RPF, so if that’s not your thing please just back on out of this story. Thanks!

****

**  
Fall, 2016  
** **New York City**

  
He’s late. God, he hates being late. His only solace is knowing that Dan will probably be late too. He always ran at least 15 minutes behind everyone else. But...that was a long time ago. A lot has changed since then. Andrew knows he’s changed. Maybe Dan has changed too.

He pushes open the door of the bar and has to stifle a laugh at the cheesiness of it all. Even though it’s late September, there are a cacophony of decorations for holidays long since passed—or maybe yet to come—adorning the walls. A string of twinkling Christmas lights hangs above the bar, and there’s a poster of a leprechaun beaming at his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow hanging on the wall, and mardi gras beads wrapped around the dingy brass taps. It’s nothing like the kind of place Andrew expects the man he’s supposed to be meeting to choose, but also? It’s exactly the kind of place he _would_ choose, specifically to troll Andrew. Because he knows that Andrew will be both pleased and mildly annoyed at the sheer anachronism of it all.

A quick glance around the bar says that he’s the first to arrive, and he stops at the bar to order a beer, thanking the bartender and dropping a five in the tip jar on the counter before he makes his way over to a quiet little booth in the back corner. He pulls out his phone, just to check the time, and he can’t help but grin when, almost exactly 15 minutes to the second past the time they were supposed to meet, Dan slips through the door of the bar, his mouth already grimacing in apology, although he hasn’t spotted Andrew yet. He looks good. A little harried, but that's nothing new. He's wearing a pair of jeans and sneakers and a dark coat that reaches down to his knees. His hair rises above his forehead in a swoop that defies the laws of physics and Andrew feels the familiar ache deep in his gut. Dan always had that effect on him, and there are some things time doesn't change. He heads directly for the bar and puts in his order—a Cosmopolitan on the rocks, by the look of it—and then he turns to survey the bar. His eyes land on Andrew and a big, open smile stretches across his face.

“Hey,” Andrew says, getting to his feet and letting himself be pulled into a hug. Dan always did give the best hugs. 

“Hi,” Dan breathes, his breath hot against Andrew’s ear. “I’m so sorry I’m late! I got lost!”

Andrew rolls his eyes and unwinds himself from Dan’s embrace, looking up at his friend. “You chose this place!” he needles Dan, just because he knows it will rile him up even more. And there really is nothing more breathtaking than a flustered Daniel Levy.

“I know! But I always come from my friend’s place, just a few blocks over,” he says, dropping into the booth opposite Andrew and shrugging out of his coat. “And I’m staying at a hotel this time, because he’s away and I just...I got turned around.”

“Didn’t you live here for a while?”

“Okay. That’s enough out of you,” Dan grumbles, but he’s still smiling, in that way he has, that’s just off-centre, that’s just slightly askew and so fucking charming it hits Andrew square in the gut. He laughs it off and takes a sip of his beer. It’s been ten years since they were last in the same room together, and Andrew had thought he was past all of these...these _feelings._ Across from him, Dan takes a cautious sip of his luridly pink drink and sighs contentedly. “So. How’ve you been?” he asks, placing his high-ball glass down on the square coaster in front of him and taking the time to fiddle with it so the glass is perfectly centred. 

“Pretty good,” Andrew replies. “You know. Keeping busy. Trying to get my film out into the world.”

Dan smiles, but his eyes are still focused on his glass. “I, um...I saw it. Your film,” he says. He looks up at Andrew now, and his eyes are brimming with sincerity and no small amount of pride. “It was really good, Andrew. Really, _really_ good.”

Andrew ducks his head and, with the edge of his fingernail, scrapes away the corner of the label on his beer bottle. “Thanks,” he says quietly. He’s suddenly feeling very shy, which is ridiculous. His film premiered at Cannes last year—fucking _Cannes—_ and his stomach is in knots thinking about his old friend seeing his film. He flicks his gaze up to meet Dan’s and smiles, small and tight, despite his best efforts, and clears his throat. “So. What’s on your mind, Dan?” he asks, taking another sip of his beer and setting it down on the bare table top, just because he knows that it will irritate Dan. “Why’d you want to meet with me?”

Dan’s eyes dart to Andrew’s bottle, at the condensation gathering around the base, and he knows Dan is thinking about the ring it’s going to leave on the wood, even though it’s not his table, and to be fair, this bar has probably had worse things inflicted on its furniture than a condensation ring from a mid-range bottle of imported beer. “Uh, I…” Dan begins, his eyes going to the bottle again, and Andrew can’t help but smirk. “I’m sorry, can you just—” Dan mutters, grabbing Andrew’s bottle and setting it on an extra coaster. His fingers brush over Andrew’s, and he has to wonder if Dan felt it too, that familiar zip of electricity that always seemed to be there, humming along just below the surface. Dan winces, apologetically, and draws his hand away, wrapping it around his own glass. “Sorry. I just...I know this place is a dive and this table is sticky—”

“It’s fine,” Andrew assures him with a knowing grin. Because it _is_ fine. It’s always been fine. Despite the fact that a decade has passed, he likes that he still knows these things about Dan. That they’re a constant, something he can count on. It wasn’t always that way between them. It wasn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it was painful. Sometimes it was infuriating. But that was a long time ago, and they were both young and stupid. 

Dan fiddles with his drink again, swirling the contents around, the ice cubes tinkling gently against the glass. “So, we’re in pre-production on season four of the show now,” he says, and Andrew smiles because of course Dan would just refer to it as “the show”, making the assumption that Andrew knows what he’s talking about. Because he does know. Of course he does. Everybody who lives north of the 49th parallel knows about _Schitt’s Creek._ Andrew hasn’t watched all that many episodes yet, because he’d started watching the pilot and his heart had leapt up into his throat at the sight of Dan on his TV, so gorgeous it hurt to look at him, and he’d had to turn it off. But he’s been slowly acclimatizing himself, delving into later episodes here and there. He likes it. The show is good, and Dan is good in it. 

“Wow. A fourth season,” Andrew says, impressed. Because he is. Getting anything out there into the world—be it a film or a tv show—isn’t easy. “That’s great, man. You must be really proud.”

Dan’s cheeks go a little pink at that, and his mouth twists off to the side. “I am. I’m really proud of our little team. They’re really good people. Really talented.” He looks up at Andrew and smiles, a little lopsided, maybe a little nervous. “It’s a lot of fun, and a lot of work. But I’ve just...I’ve learned so much. And um, I was thinking about directing an episode. Or two?”

Andrew’s eyebrows go up at that. “Really?”

Dan shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I mean, maybe?”

“Okay. Wow. Yeah, so that’s like, a big deal,” Andrew insists.

“I mean, I’m not totally sure yet,” Dan hedges, fussing with his glass again. “But we got the go-ahead for a Christmas special, and I have a lot of ideas for it, for how I want it to look. I kind of want it to feel a little bigger, a little more cinematic than a regular episode, you know?” 

“That makes sense,” Andrew says, nodding along.

“But I’ve never really directed before,” Dan adds. “I mean, outside of film school. And I wouldn’t really call what I did directing. I was just mostly trying to stay out of your way.”

Andrew rolls his eyes at him. “Oh, is that what you were trying to do?” he teases, and Dan’s face scrunches up in a way that is just so fucking endearing. “See, the word I’d use would be ‘micromanaging’, but you know. Call it what you’d like.”

Dan rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink, looking over at the bar, the twinkling lights reflecting off his glasses. “We worked well together, right? Like, we made a good team?”

He’s not really asking. He knows as well as Andrew does how well they worked together. But he can sense Dan’s anxiety in the spaces between the words. He reaches out and pats his friend gently on the shoulder. “We did,” he agrees.

Dan looks at him then, one side of his mouth rising in a hesitant smile. “I was hoping to convince you to maybe try again. If...if you’re not busy. And if that might be something you would want to do. With me. Again.”

Andrew picks up his beer and takes a long sip, buying himself some time. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered that this might be the reason Dan had asked to meet him, although a proposal like this could easily have been done over the phone. But a TV show? And an established one at that, one that was rapidly growing more and more popular not only at home in Canada, but here in the US? It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought about for himself before. 

“I...wow. I don’t know what to say,” Andrew says honestly. Across the table from him, Dan is chewing on his lip, his brows furrowed behind the thick rims of his glasses. “I’ve never done TV before.”

“Well, neither have I,” Dan says, self-deprecating as always. He sighs and fidgets with his glass again, rolling the watery, pink liquid around and making the ice tinkle against the sides of the glass. “I mean, I run the show and I have a hand in pretty much everything. But this is a special episode and I want it to feel different from the rest of the show, but still...still the same, you know?” He rolls his eyes and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose again. “I’m really knocking it out of the park with this whole pitch, aren’t I?”

Andrew laughs, because he knows how much Dan hates sports metaphors, and how much Andrew loves them. “You’re doing better than you think,” he says and Dan smiles at him, small and hesitant. Draining his beer, Andrew sets it on the table and sits back in his chair, studying his old friend closely. “If I did do this—I’m not saying I will, but if I did—what would it look like? Would I just be directing when you’re not available, or would I actually have a say in things?”

Dan huffs out a laugh. “That’s a fair question,” he says and tosses back the rest of his own drink, which must be mostly water by now. The ice is almost completely melted. “Listen, I know that I can be a little...overwhelming at times, when it comes to working on something that I’m passionate about. But I also know that you were never one to put up with any of my bullshit. And that’s exactly what I want from you, Andrew. I want you to tell me what’s working or what’s not. I want your opinion and I want you to listen to mine. This would be a partnership in every way, it’s not you being a backup director. It would be us, working together again. As equals.”

Andrew nods his head, offering Dan a smile. “I like the sound of that,” he says, and he means it.

“Good,” Dan replies, looking relieved. “I’ll send you a script so you can have a look before you make a final decision. And I’ll send you the preliminary shooting schedule and my notes so far so you can see the direction I want to go with this episode. And you can just...let me know.”

Andrew can’t help the wide smile that stretches across his face, because it all just sounds so familiar. It’s comforting, actually. After spending the better part of the last several years getting his own projects off the ground, having the weight of it resting solely on his shoulders, it sounds really nice to let the show take care of the heavy lifting, while he only has to slide in beside his old friend to take care of this one episode. The idea of working with Dan again feels good, like a worn-in glove that fits just right.

“Send me the script and I’ll let you know,” he says. “But Dan, I can tell you right now, that unless the script is terrible, I’m in.”

Dan makes an offended noise in the back of his throat, his expressive face screwed up, like he’s just taken a sip of something sour. “Excuse me, but _I_ wrote the script for this episode,” he balks and Andrew has to laugh because it is exactly the reaction he was looking to get. He shrugs and grins at Dan.

He already knows he's going to say yes.


	2. September 2004

**Ryerson University  
Toronto**

  
Andrew plops himself down into his usual seat in the familiar space, surrounded by familiar faces. The room is buzzing with voices catching up after the summer spent apart, and he smiles and joins in, sharing tales from his family’s annual summer trip to the lake, and the great short films he’d seen on a week-long visit to Montreal on his own. 

He’s been with this group of people for two years now, with two more to go before they graduate. It’s nice, thinking that the people he started this journey with will still be there at the end. Well, most of them. A few have dropped out already, realizing that filmmaking wasn’t the calling they’d thought it had been. But the core of them are still here, filled with a creative, buzzing energy that can only come from being surrounded by people who are all just eager to find new ways to tell stories.

The door opens, and Andrew expects it to be Jermaine, their Film Production instructor. But the young man who comes through the door is _definitely_ not Jermaine. He’s tall and thin—maybe lithe? That might be a better word to describe him—with dark hair and glasses and the most magnificent pair of eyebrows Andrew has ever seen in person. His mouth is angled in an upward slant, or maybe it’s a downward slant in the other direction. Either way, his mouth is slanted in a way that grabs Andrew’s attention and holds it tight. He slips into the desk just in front and to the left of Andrew, his shoulders hunched and his chin tucked down, as if by curling inward, he can hide just how tall and beautiful he is. 

The conversation stills as the new guy settles himself, opening his satchel and pulling out a leather-bound notebook and a pen. His shoulders hunch even more as the silence descends around the room, as if he knows that they’re all watching him, wondering where he came from. They’re used to people dropping out of their course of studies. It’s unusual for someone to drop in, especially now, two years into a four year program.

“Who’s the new guy?” Kelsey whisper-hisses, poking Andrew square in the back with the tip of her pen. He glances at her over his shoulder and shrugs.

“How should I know?”

“He’s hot,” Benj murmurs from his right, leaning so far over the aisle between their desks that Andrew is momentarily worried he’s going to fall flat on his face.

“Mmm,” Andrew hums, noncommittally. For some reason, he was hoping that no one else had noticed that particular fact. Like maybe, New Guy was just hot to him. But no, that’s not...he’s just really, really attractive in a _look-at-me-but-please-don’t-really-see-me_ kind of way.

“Hello my little birds!” Jermaine’s booming voice echoes loudly around the room, making Andrew jump. He notices New Guy has slid further down in his seat, his shoulders up around his ears. “I see you’ve all migrated back home to roost after sowing your summer seeds.” Jermaine smiles broadly at his class and claps his hands together. “Ah, and I see we have a new specimen. Excellent. Excellent!” He turns that beaming smile on New Guy and gestures at him. “Come on. Up. Up! Introduce yourself! Tell us who you are! We don’t get many new faces in this room!”

New Guy seems to shrink even further into himself. But at Jermaine’s insistence, he straightens up in his seat and turns to smile nervously at the curious onlookers around him. “Um, I’m Dan. I just transferred here from York. And um...I’m excited to be here. I’ve heard this is a great program.”

Jermaine nods enthusiastically. “Well, we’re far better than York, that’s for sure,” he exclaims before he promptly turns to his desk to grab a stack of papers and hand them out. Andrew accepts his copy from Benj, then turns and hands one to Kelsey sitting behind him. It’s their syllabus for the semester, and it’s...wow. It’s a lot.

“As you can see, this semester we are moving on from theory to producing actual shareable work. You will be working in groups of two or three to write, produce, film and edit a ten minute short film on the subject of your choice. You will be graded not only on the finished product, but on your ability to stay organized, on budget and on schedule throughout.”

Andrew can hear the hum of voices around him as people begin to jostle for their teams. In the past, he’s always worked with Benj and Kelsey, and he can already feel their eyes on him, asking him to join them without even having to say the words. But then he looks around the room to see that every other person has already found a team, except for New Guy. What was his name? Dan. Except for Dan, who seems to have shrunk even further down in his seat so that he’s practically oozing onto the floor beneath his desk. 

Turning to his frequent collaborators, and with Jermaine’s words in mind—groups of two or three—Andrew inclines his head toward Dan and raises his shoulders in a silent question. Benj’s eyes widen, then he winks at Andrew. Kelsey waggles her eyebrows suggestively. Andrew rolls his eyes. He’s trying to be nice to the new guy. He’s not...just because he’s hot doesn’t mean...it’s not about that. 

He reaches across the aisle and pokes the new guy with the tip of his finger. He turns hesitantly in his seat, looking cautiously over his shoulder. Andrew is hit with the full force of those dark eyes framed by long, thick lashes. Like molten chocolate, he can’t help but think.

“Hey,” he says, offering a small welcoming smile. “You need a partner?”

New Guy's— _Dan's—_ mouth does something then, his lips coming together in the middle in a perfect little bow, then sliding off to the side, tucking into his cheek, a previously unseen dimple popping and making something in Andrew’s chest do a little flip.

“Um, yes. Yeah. I don’t...I don’t know anyone. So that would be...I’d like that. Thank you.”

His voice is soft and lilting, like a whisper on the wind. Andrew holds out his hand. “I’m Andrew.”

“Dan,” New Guy says, then he blushes. “But you already knew that.”

Andrew shrugs good-naturedly. “Helps to hear it again. It’ll stop me from calling you _New Guy_ in my head.”

Dan smiles at that—an actual, real smile—and it’s blinding. His whole face lights up. Andrew instantly wants to make his face do that again. 

Andrew pulls out some scrap paper from his backpack, glancing covetously at Dan’s gorgeous leather notebook. He should invest in something like that. It looks professional, and sleek, and it makes Dan look like he actually has something to say. Which, well. That remains to be seen. Andrew realizes suddenly that he has now foregone the safety of the known for the potential horror of the unknown. He’s always done well with Benj and Kelsey. They’re far from the top of their classes, but they’ve never been at the bottom. They’ve always been comfortably in the middle. He has no idea who Dan is or what kinds of ideas he might have. The full weight of what he’s done suddenly sits uncomfortably in the pit of Andrew’s stomach.

After coming up with a few initial ideas, they agree to meet up later, after the rest of their classes have finished for the day, to fine tune their list and try to whittle it down to one, solid concept. Andrew suggests meeting at the on-campus pub, but Dan shakes his head and offers his apartment instead.

“I have a hard time concentrating in loud, busy places,” Dan admits shyly. “I mean, we could meet in the library, if that’s...if you’d be more comfortable.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Your place will be fine,” he says, and Dan scribbles his address down on a scrap of paper, handing it to Andrew, who folds it and tucks it carefully into his back pocket.

Several hours later, Andrew finds himself standing in the hall outside of Dan’s apartment. He wonders if he should have brought something, like maybe a bottle of wine? Or some chips, at the very least. Before he can second guess himself any further, the door swings open and Dan is smiling at him, dimples out, and all the breath leaves Andrew’s chest.

“Hey! You found me!” Dan says, gesturing for Andrew to come in. He does, crouching to unlace his shoes while Dan closes the door behind him. He takes the opportunity to check out Dan’s place. It’s small, but tidy. A bachelor suite with an open-plan kitchen and living room, a bedroom/office area tucked away on the far side of the space, and an open door leading to what Andrew assumes must be the bathroom. There’s a bookshelf along one wall, shelves groaning under the weight of so many books, and a small table beside the door with a photo of Dan and what must be his family.

“Holy shit,” Andrew breathes. He _recognizes_ the man in the photo, the man who must be Dan’s dad.

“Oh. Yeah,” Dan says, appearing at Andrew’s shoulder and grimacing, almost in apology, at the photo. “Um...so, I don’t really like to tell people. About that. About m-my dad. So if you could just not—”

“Okay.”

Dan smiles at him again, obviously relieved. “Okay then,” he says.

He follows Dan into the kitchen—well. Kitchen is a generous word. It’s a small set of cupboards with a hot plate, a sink and a bar fridge along one wall of the apartment—and watches as Dan pulls two beers from the tiny fridge and pops them open. He accepts his and they clink their bottles together, grinning at one another before they head over to the small loveseat that takes up the majority of the space in Dan’s living room. 

Andrew pulls out his notebook—it’s not fancy, like Dan’s, but at least it’s not just a handful of loose papers—and opens it to a fresh page. Dan does the same, and they begin to share ideas, starting tentatively, but over the course of the evening, as they become more comfortable with one another, their suggestions become more ridiculous, until the two of them are giggling and leaning against one another at their increasingly ludicrous ideas.

Andrew realizes that underneath the quiet, Dan is really funny. Like really, _really_ funny in an acerbic, self-deprecating kind of way. And he’s smart. He’s got a good eye for design and putting together a visual story. Andrew’s strength is composition and he realizes that their two sensibilities complement one another well. By the end of the night, despite several hours wasted laughing like a pair of hyenas, they have a solid plan and several ideas for bringing their concept to life. 

They’re squeezed together on Dan’s microscopic loveseat, leaning over Dan’s notebook and Andrew realizes he’s getting excited about this project. The idea of working with Dan excites Andrew, and it’s not just because making Dan laugh makes something come loose inside of him. He can admit that he’s attracted to Dan, and not just because he’s a pretty face. He’s witty and charming and intelligent, and it’s not often that Andrew has found all of those things in one package.

Dan glances over at him and blushes, and Andrew realizes he must have been staring. He clears his throat and gives his head a shake, nodding down at the page of notes Dan’s been scribbling out in duplicate so that Andrew can take a copy home with him.

“I, um, I think we’ve really got something here,” Andrew says quietly. 

Dan nudges him with his shoulder, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I think we really do.” His eyes are wide and sincere, and Andrew wants to lean into him, wants to know what his mouth tastes like. 

But then Dan is sitting back and grinning at him, handing him the sheet torn from his notebook. A quick glance at his watch startles Andrew. It’s after midnight, and he has an early class tomorrow morning. They quickly pack up their things, and Andrew apologizes for not being able to stay to help clean up.

“It’s a couple of empty bottles and a bowl,” Dan says, placing his hands on Andrew’s shoulders and guiding him toward the door. “It’s not a big deal.”

With his shoes on his feet and his backpack slung over his shoulder, Andrew has run out of excuses to stay. He smiles at Dan. “Well. I’m feeling really good about this, Dan,” he says honestly, one hand on the doorknob. He just can’t bring himself to turn it yet.

“Me too,” Dan replies. He’s leaning casually against the door frame, and it strikes Andrew just how much taller than him Dan is. That knowledge sends a thrill running down his spine, tucking itself away somewhere deep inside, ready to be taken out the next time he’s alone in bed and in need of a little inspiration.

“Well. Goodnight, Dan,” Andrew says. He turns the knob and opens the door, forcing himself to step out into the hall.

“Goodnight, Andrew,” Dan replies, a smile playing on his face again. In the soft light of the hall, it looks like Dan is glowing. Before he does anything he can’t undo, Andrew nods decisively and turns on his heel, heading down the hall toward the elevators. He glances over his shoulder to see Dan watching him go, and he raises a hand to wave. Dan waves back, then disappears behind his door, the quiet click of the lock following Andrew down the hall.


	3. Late September, 2004

The next few days are spent in a haze of swirling thoughts that Andrew almost convinces himself are about his excitement in this new project. But as the days go by and he has a chance to sift through those thoughts, it becomes more and more apparent that the project plays a minor role in the images playing out in his brain, almost completely eclipsed by his enigmatic new partner.

He’s fascinated by Dan, captivated by him. He’s gorgeous, but he doesn’t carry himself like someone who’s gorgeous, in Andrew’s limited experience. There’s none of the artifice or preening that he’s come to expect from the exceptionally good-looking. He’s sure Dan must know, because he does take care of his appearance. But from their brief time together the other night, it seems more like self-preservation than self-aggrandizement. Dan looks after himself because it makes him feel safe, rather than looking after himself because he wants to look good for other people.

They’ve shared a few more classes together, and Dan always shares a small, shy smile when he sees Andrew, but otherwise keeps to himself as much as he can. Andrew introduces him to Benj and Kelsey at lunch one day, and after five minutes Kelsey declares loudly that she likes Dan. She looks pointedly at Andrew when she says it. Andrew tosses a tater tot at her face.

He watches as Dan and his two friends talk, Dan slowly beginning to warm to the pair, as they attempt to draw more out of him. He wonders if Dan feels it too—has been feeling it since that night at his apartment—the connection between them. There had been that moment, quick as it was, where Andrew had felt like something could happen. He hopes these feelings he’s having aren’t completely one-sided. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a crush on someone who didn’t share his feelings, but it is the first time that the thought gives Andrew pause. He’s just agreed to partner with Dan on this project for the next several months. Their collaboration will make up the lion’s share of their grade for this class, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize things by making Dan uncomfortable if his feelings aren’t requited.

The following day, Andrew takes his seat in Film Production and gets out his notes to share with Dan. He’s had a few ideas he wants to run by him before he gets too far ahead of himself. He looks up just in time to see Dan slip into the classroom. He looks a little more disheveled than usual today, his hair disarranged into wild waves versus the sleek look Andrew has become accustomed to. And the stubble along his jaw is thicker than he’s seen it, as if he didn’t take the time to shave this morning. 

“Jesus. The things I’d do to him,” Benj sighs dreamily under his breath, his tongue practically lolling on the floor as he gazes longingly at Dan. Andrew throws a pencil at him.

“Stop it. He’s nice,” he hisses, bending to collect his pencil from where it had bounced off Benj’s forehead onto the floor.

“He’s _nice,”_ Kelsey repeats, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yes. He’s nice. He’s a nice guy.” Andrew turns in his seat, his back to Kelsey, and crosses his arms over his chest. He stares at the back of Dan’s head, noticing the way his hair fades perfectly from the tousled waves at the top of his head, disappearing to nothing at the nape of his long neck. Andrew has never really paid attention to the backs of people’s heads, but he thinks he could stare at Dan’s for hours.

When Jermaine arrives and tells them to break into their groups, Andrew gets up and switches to the desk beside Dan’s, opening his notebook and flipping to where he’d left off. When he looks up at Dan, he’s surprised to see that his eyes are bleary and maybe a little puffy.

“Hi,” he says quietly. Dan nods a greeting and pulls out his notebook. His movements are a little slower than usual, a little more subdued. But he offers Andrew a small smile and flips open his notes and they begin to go over their ideas, expanding on them and trying to think of ways to bring them to life.

As the class goes on, Andrew becomes more and more aware that something is not quite right with Dan. He’s not laughing at Andrew’s jokes, which he knows are lame, but Dan had always made an attempt to laugh at them before. And he seems distracted. Andrew has to bring his attention back to their project more than once. He tries not to take Dan’s disinterest personally.

“Hey,” Andrew says, when he’s caught Dan zoning out for the third time. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s...I’m fine. Sorry,” Dan says. He drops his gaze to his desk, running a finger along an expletive carved into the surface. “I, um, I just had a rough night.”

Andrew reaches out and puts a tentative hand on Dan’s arm. “Anything I can do to help?”

Dan looks a little taken aback at the offer. “No?” It’s not really a question, but his voice ticks up at the end uncertainly.

“You sure?” Andrew presses gently. “I’ve been told I’m a very good listener. If that...if you need a friend. I know I’m not the biggest guy in the world, but I’ve got strong shoulders. Really good for crying on.”

His heart clenches at the way Dan’s lower lip trembles, but then his face softens and he nods his head. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

An hour later, Andrew has an ice-cold beer in his hand and Dan is sitting across the grungy table of the on-campus pub with a violently pink drink in a martini glass in front of him. At Andrew’s inquiring glance, Dan winces and points at his drink. 

“It’s a Cosmopolitan,” he says by way of explanation, as if that’s supposed to mean something to Andrew. “I saw it on _Sex and the City_ and thought I should try it.”

“And?” Andrew grins as Dan takes a tentative sip, grimacing as he swallows. 

“It’s...not bad?” He takes another sip and sets the glass down on his coaster. “Yeah. I might need a few more of these before I can make my final judgement.”

Andrew smiles at Dan, then sets his beer down on the table and leans forward. “So. You had a rough night,” he says gently. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“Not really,” Dan admits, twirling the stem of his glass between his thumb and forefinger. He reaches over and sets Andrew's beer down on a coaster, then looks up at Andrew with a self-deprecating little smirk on his face. “I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll lose whatever scrap of respect you might have for me. And I’m not really sure I can handle that right now.”

“Dan. Rest assured, the smidgeon of respect I hold for you is safe. I literally could not think any less of you.”

His words have the desired effect of startling a laugh out of Dan. “Good to know,” he says, and his shoulders seem to relax, if only a little. It’s a start, Andrew tells himself. Heaving out a sigh, Dan drops his gaze to the table top, taking a moment to adjust the base of his glass so it’s perfectly centred on his coaster. “I broke up with my boyfriend last night,” he says, so quietly Andrew can barely hear him over the din of the pub. “O-or he broke up with me. I’m not...All I know is, we’re done.”

“Oh.” Andrew wants to say more. He’d promised Dan a supportive shoulder, after all. But all he can think is that he’s been so stupid. He’s spent all this time hoping that Dan had felt something between them, when all along he’d had a boyfriend. And it must have been serious, if he’s this distraught over their break up. “That’s tough. I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds so hollow and trite in his ears.

“Don’t be,” Dan replies, picking up his drink and tipping it all back in one, long gulp. Andrew’s eyes fixate on the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, the way his throat disappears into his chest, the wisps of fine, dark hair he can see peeking out from the collar of his v-neck t-shirt. Dan sets his glass down on the table again with a little more force than is strictly necessary and wipes his mouth with the back of his other hand. “He was not a good person.”

“Oh?”

“Mm mm. Nope.” Dan says with a decisive shake of his head. He catches the eye of a server passing their table and orders another round, then turns his attention back to Andrew. “We, um...we were having problems for a while. Well, I say a while, but I mean, our whole relationship was one problem after another. And I realized suddenly that I was only staying with him so I didn’t have to be alone. How sad is that?’

“There’s no shame in not wanting to be alone,” Andrew offers, and Dan shakes his head.

“But at what cost? Is it worth it to be in a relationship that isn’t working just so you can say ‘I have a boyfriend?’” His mouth flattens into a thin line and his eyes go hard. “He was an actor and wanted me to get my dad to put in a good word for him with some people, get his foot in the door for a few auditions. I said no. He didn’t like that.”

“Wow. Dan, I...that’s awful.”

“Then he asked me why I had wasted so much of his time if I wasn’t going to be any use to him. Can you believe that? Fucking asshole.” 

Dan turns his face away as the server arrives with a fresh round of drinks, and Andrew smiles his thanks before turning his attention back to Dan, who is surreptitiously wiping at his eyes behind the thick frames of his glasses. Andrew likes Dan. Attraction aside, he actually _likes_ Dan. He’s nice and smart and so fucking funny, and Andrew cannot for the life of him figure out why Dan would let himself be treated so poorly by someone so terrible. He needs Dan to explain it to him, because according to Andrew’s calculations, Dan should be with someone who appreciates his creativity and intelligence, who laughs at his jokes and makes him feel special. So he asks. Dan’s eyes get a little watery, and his lips tremble before he pulls them between his teeth to hide how much he’s feeling. And then he smiles, small and tremulous, and it’s so beautiful it catches Andrew right in the chest, taking his breath away.

“I’m learning,” Dan says eventually, after wiping his eyes and tucking away his blinding smile. “I think...I think I felt for a long time like I had to work hard for all of my relationships. And yes, I know. Relationships take work. But like, _both_ people should be working hard, right? If one person is doing all the work, something’s wrong.”

Andrew nods in agreement and Dan takes a bracing sip of his very pink beverage before looking at Andrew over the rim of his glass. He looks so vulnerable in that moment, so uncertain. “I’ve been told by partners that I’m too quiet, too insecure. That I’m too gay, or not gay enough.” He lets out a deep sigh and his shoulders slump under the weight of all of those expectations. “People always...they always want something from me, and I’m just so tired, Andrew. I’m so tired of feeling like too much, or not enough. I’m tired of having to give so much of myself and never getting anything in return. I just...I just want one person— _just one_ —to tell me that it’s okay to just be me.” He lets out a shaky breath and smiles wanly at Andrew. “Is that too much to ask?”

Andrew slides his foot under the table and kicks the side of Dan’s shoe. “I mean, all I want is a passing grade in Film Production, so…” 

Dan smiles then, dimples and all, and nudges the toe of his shoe against Andrew’s shin. “That sounds reasonable. I think I just might be able to handle that.”


	4. October 2004

Dan is a night owl, while Andrew is more of an early bird. Over the next few weeks they fall into a routine, working together in the afternoons and into the evenings, building off of whatever Andrew has put together in the mornings and leaving Dan to take over and continue working well into the night. It’s a good system, and they make a good team. 

Andrew enjoys the notes Dan leaves for him, circling the ideas he doesn’t particularly like with a thick red line and jotting little comments in the margins. Things like, _“are we 100% married to this idea?”_ and _“I see where you’re going with this, and I don’t care for it.”_ And Andrew’s particular favourite, _“Just no.”_

He leaves similarly snarky notes for Dan, and they laugh about them when they meet in the afternoons, and it’s all just so...good. Dan is so good, and Andrew feels good when he’s with him. And while he still feels that pull of attraction, he values Dan’s friendship and doesn’t want some silly, one-sided crush to damage what they have. So he lets himself enjoy his time with Dan, letting go of his expectations and just revelling in the fact that he is one of the few people Dan allows to see him for who he really is, warts and all. Frankly, he’s honoured. And it’s enough. It’s just enough.

They’re sitting in class and Andrew is opening his notebook. Dan is digging around in his bag, letting out annoyed little huffs which shouldn’t be nearly as adorable as they are. He sits up and gives Andrew a sheepish smile. “So I forgot my notebook,” he says, with a one-eyed wince, “which particularly sucks, because I had some ideas last night that I really wanted to share with you.”

“Oh. Do you have more rude comments for me?” Andrew volleys and Dan grins at him.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he says haughtily. “But I also had an idea that I want your opinion on.” He sighs and looks thoughtfully over at Andrew. “You want to come over to my place? We can work on it there, or I can run home and get it and meet you somewhere.”

Dan says it so casually, like it’s not a big deal. But it is. It’s a huge deal. The last time they were alone in Dan’s apartment, they'd had a moment. Or, well. Andrew had a moment. And despite all of his attempts to convince himself that this thing between them is nothing, that Dan’s not into him and this will never work, he still hopes. And so maybe he says yes to Dan’s invitation a little faster and with more enthusiasm than is strictly necessary, but he doesn’t care. He’s going to say yes to the offer of several hours of uninterrupted one-on-one time with Dan every time. Every single time.

A few hours later finds them squeezed together on Dan’s impossibly tiny loveseat, thigh pressed against thigh, shoulders bumping against each other every time one of them moves. And it’s amazing and it’s wonderful. Dan changed when they got to his place, slipping into the bathroom to exchange his skinny jeans and plaid hipster shirt for a pair of baggy grey sweatpants that hang off his hips, engulfing his lanky frame, and a plain white t-shirt with a deep v-neck, exposing a patch of thick chest hair that Andrew desperately wants to nuzzle his face into. It’s a lot, but in the best way. Andrew is cursed with the bare chest of a prepubescent boy, and the swirls of hair that peek out of the collar of Dan’s shirt seem impossibly manly, and fantastically, effortlessly sexy. His palms are sweating as Dan reaches over to snatch a sticky note from the table, scribbling on it and patting it firmly onto the page spread open on Andrew’s lap.

“Well?” Dan asks, nudging Andrew with his elbow. “What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“Oh my God. You’re useless,” Dan teases with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “This!” he says, jabbing at his notebook with the tip of his finger. “What do you think about this?”

Andrew’s gaze drops down to the paper with Dan’s notes. He blinks a few times to clear the stardust from his eyes and reads. It’s good. It’s really good. “I love it,” he says and beside him, Dan glows.

“Yeah?” Dan asks, suddenly bashful.

“Yeah,” Andrew assures him. 

They expand on Dan’s idea, talking over one another and at one point, Dan grabs Andrew’s knee as he excitedly prattles on about something Andrew can’t quite follow. His entire being is solely focused on the feel of Dan’s long fingers gripping his leg through his jeans.

“You want to take a break?” 

“Hmm?” Andrew hums, giving his head a shake. “What?”

Dan’s expressive face goes soft and he loosens his grip on Andrew’s knee, patting it gently. “I’m so sorry. I’ve kept you up so late. We should call it a night.”

“No!” Andrew says, far more loudly than he’d intended. “No. I’m good,” he says, quieter this time. “We can keep going.”

Dan looks at him appraisingly. “Well let’s take a break then,” he says, getting up and stretching, his arms reaching high above his head. He makes a gorgeous little noise in the back of his throat as his neck cracks and then he’s moving into his pocket-sized kitchen and grabbing two beers from his miniature fridge. He pops the caps and hands one to Andrew, then crowds back onto the loveseat beside him.

“So,” Dan says, pulling his legs up and tucking his toes under Andrew’s thigh.

“So,” Andrew echoes before taking a long pull of his beer. “Um, how’re you doing? Better? You seem better.”

Dan wiggles his toes. “I am very much better, thank you.”

“Good,” Andrew says, nodding his head. And then he keeps nodding, like a bobble head with too much bobble. Or one of those drinking bird things that his teacher had on her desk in grade six. 

“Are you...also good?” Dan asks, cringing dramatically at his own words. “God. One day I want to write words for a living. Can you imagine?” He rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his beer.

“You’d be good at that,” Andrew says quietly, but firmly. “Your words are good. You’re good. I’m glad you’re good.”

Oh God. It’s like he’s never had a conversation before in his life. He cringes far less gracefully than Dan and tries to distract himself with more beer. But his bottle is empty, so he leans forward to set it on the table. And then he rakes his fingers through his hair and turns to Dan. 

“The last time I was here, you were still with your boyfriend.”

Dan’s toes go still under Andrew’s thigh. “Yes. I was.” He carefully places his own beer on the coffee table—on a coaster, of course. Then he turns back to Andrew. “But I’m not anymore. I am very, _very_ single,” he says softly.

“Me too,” Andrew replies. He leans in then, just a bit, feeling brave. Dan leans in too. “Very single,” he whispers, and his lips brush over Dan’s and it’s everything he imagined it would be. Dan’s lips are soft and wet, but not sloppy. Andrew slides his hand up Dan’s arm, over his shoulder, placing his palm against the skin of Dan’s neck. He’s warm and his pulse is racing under Andrew’s hand, and he keens a little in the back of his throat, a deep, yearning sound. Andrew files it away, to take out and admire later. He wants to earn that sound and so many others from Dan. Wants to hear him plead and praise and beg and scream. He wants to hear his name on Dan’s tongue. God, he wants it all.

He’s never felt so much in a first kiss. It’s too much. It’s not enough. He’s terrified it’s going to end. And then it does. Dan is pulling away, drawing his lips between his teeth and letting out a sigh that sends shivers down Andrew’s spine.

“Wow,” Dan murmurs, breathless and longing. Andrew hums his assent. Dan turns his face, nuzzling his cheek against Andrew’s palm, kissing the soft mound at the base of his thumb. “Andrew.” The name is tinged with regret.

“I know,” Andrew says. He can feel the pinch of tears behind his eyes. He’s just had the best kiss of his life, and it’s over. And it won’t happen again.

“I like you,” Dan says, and it’s an apology and an explanation all at once. It hurts so much. “I like working with you. I like being your friend. You’re...you’re a really good person, and that was an amazing kiss.”

Andrew looks up hopefully, only to have his reverie dashed by the grief on Dan’s face. “But?”

“But I just got out of a really terrible relationship,” he says, and at least he has the decency to look Andrew in the eye while he says it. “And I don’t think I’m ready to jump back into something right away.”

Andrew nods again. He’s Mrs. Milne’s drinking bird all over again. “Okay.”

“But soon,” Dan says, pressing another kiss to Andrew’s palm. “I’d like to do that again. Just not quite yet. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry,” Andrew pleads. He takes his hand back, curling his fingers protectively over the tender skin where he can still feel the buzz of Dan’s stubble and the warmth of his lips. He looks into those deep, dark eyes, sees the worry there. Dan thinks he’s just lost a friend, and Andrew won’t do that to him. He deserves so much better. “I really like you too, Dan,” he says, attempting a smile that he knows doesn’t make it to his eyes. But he’s trying. “And if you need some time, I can wait.”

Dan sniffs and his eyes dart away, but one of his dimples pops, giving away the smile that he doesn’t want to show. Then he looks back at Andrew and the worry in his eyes is gone. 

“Thank you.”


	5. October - November 2004

The next few weeks pass unremarkably. Andrew and Dan continue to work on their project, and they’re nearing the time when they’ll actually have to start shooting the thing so they’ll have all the footage they’ll need in order to edit and tinker with it before they submit it at the end of the semester. Andrew has noticed that Dan has begun to spread his wings somewhat, dipping his toe into various social circles around campus, including the theatre club, where the lead costumer has taken him under her wing. And Dan is flourishing, and Andrew is so happy for him. Of course it means that Dan isn’t available as often for their evening work sessions, but they’ve started communicating by email, sending their respective notes back and forth without the need to actually see one another every day. 

It’s both a blessing and a curse. Andrew is able to concentrate more on his other classes without the looming spectre of his desire for Dan always hovering just on the edges of his peripheral vision. But on the other hand, he misses spending time with him. Neither of them has brought up the kiss since that night, but Andrew thinks about it all the time. He wonders if it crosses Dan’s mind at all. He’d said he liked Andrew, and that he just needed time. As their social circles continue to drift further apart, Andrew wonders if Dan was just being nice, or if he actually meant it when he said he wanted to do it again.

And then Dan misses a class. 

It’s not the end of the world. It’s not like they’re not working long hours outside of class on their project, so much so that when class rolls around, more often than not, the two of them use the time to catch up. It’s just that this time, Dan forgot to email Andrew his notes from the night before, so Andrew has no idea what Dan thought about the notes he’d sent him yesterday afternoon, and he doesn’t want to plow ahead with his vision without getting Dan’s opinion. 

Figuring there’s really only one place he’s likely to be, Andrew makes his way over to the theatre, hoping to find Dan in the work room, putting together costumes for the upcoming production of _The 39 Steps._ He’s been going on and on for weeks about the multiple costume changes required for the production, and sourcing things as much as possible that are appropriate to the era, versus constructing items from scratch. Apparently they never look as authentic? Andrew can’t really remember because he wasn’t really listening. 

He pushes open the work room door and he can hear voices coming from the back where the costumes are being kept for the show. It sounds like Dan’s voice, and another man’s, a low baritone that reverberates in Andrew’s ears in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. Dan laughs at something the baritone says, and Andrew rounds the corner just in time to see a tall, dark and ridiculously handsome man who can only be Mr. Baritone, lean in and capture Dan’s mouth in a kiss. It seems to catch Dan off guard, but he recovers quickly, his hands smoothing up Mr. Baritone’s well-defined pecs and coming to rest on his shoulders.

Andrew can feel the sharp sting of tears, and he sags under the weight of his disappointment. He needs to leave. He needs to leave now, before Dan sees him, before he’s caught following Dan around like a lovesick puppy. He’s embarrassed. He’s angry. He’s fucking heartbroken. Dan said he needed time, and like a fool, Andrew believed him.

He turns to go and catches his elbow on a dress-form sporting a tweed coat and a deerstalker cap, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. He hears a gasp and he looks up, locking eyes with Dan, his eyes wide and startled behind his glasses. Cursing his clumsiness, Andrew stumbles over the fallen form, making a bee-line for the door. He can hear Dan calling his name but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. If he stops, he’s not certain he’ll ever start again. He’ll just crumble to the floor in a pathetic heap and he can’t have that. He doesn’t want Dan’s pity or his excuses. He just wants to get out of this place with a little of his dignity still intact. He pushes through the heavy door leading outside and keeps going, going, going. Until he’s home and he collapses on his bed, his heart sore and his head spinning. 

It seems like mere minutes have passed when he comes to, but it must have been several hours. His room is dark, illuminated only by the streetlights outside his window. He feels drained. He aches everywhere. And he’s thirsty. He’s so thirsty. He heaves himself up off his bed and pads to the kitchen. Luckily, none of his roommates are home, so he doesn’t have to endure their small talk and inevitable well-intentioned but ultimately unwelcome questions at his sleep-rumpled clothes and puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

He pulls a carton of orange juice from his shelf on the fridge door and pops it open, drinking straight from the spout because he’s a grown man who just got his heart broken and he doesn’t feel like listening to the voice in his head that sounds remarkably like his mother, admonishing him for his complete lack of couth. As he swipes his mouth with the back of his hand, he hears a soft knock on the front door and he frowns. No one else is home, so it can’t be delivery. He leaves the juice on the counter and moves through the darkened apartment, mindful of the coffee table made from recycled milk crates and a sheet of plywood that always seems to reach out for his toes in the dark. Peering through the peephole, Andrew’s heart thuds out an irregular rhythm and his breath shudders deep in his chest.

_Dan._

He’s shaking. Andrew’s whole body is shaking and he presses his forehead against the door and tries to remember how to breathe. He hears someone let out a pitiful whimper and it’s not until he feels another rising from deep in his chest that he realizes it’s him. He’s making that sound. 

“Andrew?”

On the other side of the door, Dan’s voice sounds wary and penitent, but thick, like someone has added one too many emotions and now his voice can’t squeeze past his vocal chords. 

“What do you want?” He wants the words to hurt Dan. He wants them to sting. But they come out breathy and frail. He peers through the peephole again and sees Dan’s face contort in grief and contrition. Maybe Andrew’s words have stung him anyway. Good.

“I think...I think I need to explain a couple of things,” comes Dan’s voice through the door.

“You think?” Andrew fires back.

“Please. Andrew, can I come in? Please? I’d like to explain.”

Andrew snorts derisively, but he flips the deadbolt and yanks open the door. Dan looks like Andrew feels, wrung out and devastated. A petty part of him—a part that rarely sees the light of day—feels just a little bit vindicated. “What?’ he asks again, leaving the door ajar and returning through the darkened living room to the kitchen to finish his juice. He hears Dan close the door, hears him trip over the coffee table with a muttered curse. And when Andrew turns to face him, open juice carton in hand, Dan is standing in the doorway with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He looks brooding and beautiful and Andrew hates how much he still wants him.

“I, um...what you saw? Today in the theatre? That was...I’m sorry you saw that.”

“Wow. Apology _not_ accepted,” Andrew snaps, slamming the carton of juice down on the counter.

Dan seems to curl in on himself and he shakes his head. “No, that’s not...I didn’t mean—” He sighs and absently pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with the side of his finger, and it’s a thing Andrew must have seen him do a hundred times and never noticed. He’s never seen anyone else adjust their glasses the way Dan does, and he wants to tell him to stop it. Stop being so endearing. Stop being so fucking noticeable. _Just stop._ But Dan is talking again, so Andrew listens. “I’m sorry that happened, and that you saw it. I wasn’t...Brandon said he wanted to meet me for a costume fitting. And then he was flirting, and I...Andrew, I’ve been so lonely. And it was really nice to feel wanted. And then he kissed me and I didn’t stop him and then, when I saw you, I just...I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of that to happen.”

Andrew leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “Jesus, Dan,” he says with a shake of his head. “You’re lonely? You want to feel _wanted?”_ Andrew bites down on his lower lip to hold back the sob that is threatening to break free. He closes his eyes and just breathes for a second. A minute. He doesn’t know how long. But Dan doesn’t speak, doesn’t interrupt the silence. And when Andrew finally looks at him again, Dan’s eyes are brimming with tears. Andrew clears his throat. “Well. I want you, Dan. I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

“I know,” Dan breathes in response.

“I wouldn’t have let you be lonely,” Andrew continues. “I wouldn’t have let you feel unwanted.” He uncrosses his arms, pushes off from the counter and takes a tentative step across the vast chasm between them that is his kitchen. 

A tear slips down Dan’s cheek and he dashes it away, only to be followed by another, then another. And then he’s standing in Andrew’s kitchen and he’s crying and it’s too much for Andrew. He can’t hold onto his anger and his hurt and hold on to Dan at the same time. So he lets them go, he releases his hurt feelings and he waves at his anger as it skitters into a dark corner, and he takes Dan in his arms and pulls him close, letting him shake apart in his embrace.

“I know, I know!” Dan wails into Andrew’s shoulder. Long arms curl around Andrew, and he feels Dan’s weight draping over him. Dan holds him tight and Andrew soothes and shushes and rocks them both gently on the chipped linoleum of his kitchen floor. With an undignified snort, Dan pulls away and his glasses are askew and his face is ruddy. “Ugh,” he grumbles, sounding stuffy and snotty and wet. “I’m so gross.”

Andrew disagrees, but says nothing, reaching for a box of tissues from the counter and handing them to Dan, who takes a handful and tries to mop up his face. Andrew turns to grab some glasses from the cupboard. “Want something to drink?” he asks.

“Anything but that juice you were drinking straight from the carton like a fucking Philistine,” Dan gripes and Andrew laughs out loud, the first time he’s done that all day. 

“Noted. I have beer or I have wine. Or water.”

“Water please,” Dan says, lowering himself into one of the mismatched chairs that make up the dining set in the corner of the kitchen.

Andrew pours two glasses of water from his Brita filter, then refills it and puts it back in the fridge. He closes the orange juice and puts it back too, then sits down across from Dan, pushing a glass toward him.

“Thanks,” Dan says, and he drains his water in a series of long, slow swallows that Andrew vehemently wishes he didn’t find so attractive. But he does. And he’s probably staring. He tries to concentrate on his own water instead and ends up with a sloppy cascade dribbling down his chin.

“I’m really sorry, Andrew. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I really do like you. A lot. And I—” Dan’s voice breaks and he clears his throat, looking down into his empty glass. Then he’s looking up at Andrew and his eyes are darker than Andrew’s ever seen them, deep and rich and wanting. “I don’t usually like nice people. And, um, I was scared,” he says. He swallows thickly, and Andrew passes him his half-empty glass, watching as Dan gulps it back quickly without a flicker of hesitation or fuss. And Dan doesn’t share beverages. He doesn’t like the germs. So his acceptance of Andrew’s water makes a strong case for his distraught state of mind. A little voice in the back of his head whispers that it could also mean that Dan trusts him, but Andrew covers his metaphorical ears. He doesn’t want to hear that right now. 

“You were scared?” he presses. Dan nods.

“I was afraid that if I let myself feel these...these feelings that I have for you? And it didn’t work out? Then I would have lost the first and, really, o-only friend that I have here.”

“Dan,” Andrew sighs. He reaches across the table and takes Dan’s hand in his. “I’m your friend first. And no matter what happens? I’ll always be your friend.”

Dan’s mouth scoots off to the side and his dimples carve little divots in his cheeks. He turns his hand over in Andrew’s twining their fingers together and gives Andrew’s hand a tug, and then another, until he’s tugging Andrew into his lap, wrapping his other hand around the back of Andrew’s neck and pulling him into a kiss that is filled with unspoken promises. Dan’s mouth pleads with Andrew to be kind to him, to remember that he’s been broken before. 

When Andrew gets to his feet, Dan follows him to his bedroom, and together they fall onto the bed, limbs tangled together, hands pulling at clothing, mouths seeking the pleasure of the other’s body. And Dan is good. He’s so good. And he takes Andrew apart, piece by agonizing piece, and then puts him back together with such care and attention it steals his breath and he’s left panting Dan’s name as he comes undone in his mouth.


	6. November 2004 - April, 2005

As the semester rolls on, they fall into a comfortable pattern. They begin to shoot their final project and spend hours and hours together in the editing suite painstakingly cutting together their film. There are a few arguments, but they always fizzle out quickly and at the end of the day, they always work things out, agreeing that, where the project is concerned, their egos need to take a back seat.

And it’s good. It’s all so good. Andrew is happy, and Dan smiles all the time. It sends little jolts of pleasure through Andrew to know that he did that, he made Dan smile a real, genuine smile. From the stories Dan has shared with him, it doesn’t sound like he’s had many partners that made the effort to make Dan happy. Andrew wishes things could have been different for Dan. But a tiny part of him is glad. Because if Dan had been happy in any of his previous relationships, then Andrew wouldn’t get to have him now. 

Sometimes they spend their evenings hanging out with friends, but more often than not, they find themselves curled up on Dan’s ridiculously small loveseat, limbs tangled together as they ignore a movie while they make out, and then they’ll stumble into Dan’s bed where their bodies come together, leaving them both exhausted and sated. 

When they present their film to Jermaine, he calls it “a triumph”. They get the highest mark in the class. Benj and Kelsey get the second highest grade, and they all go out to celebrate the end of the semester.

Over the winter break, Andrew drives to Dundas to see his family for Christmas, but is back in Toronto in time to spend New Year’s with Dan and his family at his parents' house. He meets Sarah, and she embraces him with open arms, whispering her thanks in his ear for making her brother smile. And he meets Deb, who tells racy jokes around the dinner table, making Dan blush and Andrew laugh so hard his ribs ache. And Eugene takes him into his office and shows him his wall, covered from floor to ceiling with pictures of people Andrew has known and idolized since he was a boy. John Candy, Rick Moranis, Catherine O’Hara, Andrea Martin. And sitting on his desk is a picture of a much younger Dan and Deb and Sarah, smiling at the camera. Andrew can tell that despite the prestige of the wall behind his desk, it’s the picture of his family that Eugene treasures most.

When the doorbell rings, Andrew hears voices in the hall and he follows Eugene out into the living room. Andrew has to pick his jaw up off the floor when the newcomer smiles at him, big and toothy and friendly, and shakes his hand. “You must be Andrew. I’m Marty. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Andrew looks over at Dan, whose cheeks have blossomed with a blush that Andrew will have to remember to tease him about later. Then he looks back at the man shaking his hand and nods. 

“I am. And you’re Martin Short,” he says, which makes Martin grin. 

“So I’ve been told,” he says with a wink. Andrew wants to die of embarrassment, but the fond smile on Dan’s face soothes his jangled nerves. 

In January, they go back to school and things just pick up where they left off. They have a few classes together and Andrew asks Dan to be his partner again. Dan confesses his fear that Andrew will get sick of him if they spend too much time together, so Andrew pulls him into his arms and presses reassurances into the delicate skin just below his clavicle. Dan doesn’t bring it up again.

As the Spring semester plods on, Andrew begins to notice that Dan isn’t as happy. He’s frustrated with some of his electives. He has big ideas and the scope of the curriculum doesn’t allow for students to think too far outside the box. And sometimes Dan’s ideas are so far outside the box, Andrew isn’t even sure there is a box anymore. They still work well together, and at the end of the semester they get an excellent grade on their project. And they’re still so good together in every other way. But as summer approaches, things start to feel less settled between them. Less certain.

Dan is going to Japan for a month over the summer, then he’s going to be in New York staying with a friend who works as an intern for a big-shot designer. He wants to immerse himself in fashion, whatever that means. And Andrew, well. He’ll be staying in Toronto. He and Benj landed internships with a local production company. He knows it will be grueling and probably thankless, but it’s an experience he thinks he needs. He tells Dan he’s going to immerse himself in celluloid, which makes Dan roll his eyes.

So they have a decision to make. Do they try to do long-distance? Or do they press pause on their relationship for the summer?

Dan wants to do long distance. He says he’ll do whatever it takes—he’ll call from Japan in the middle of the night if he has to, to catch Andrew during his lunch break. He’ll email. They can try and text if Dan can figure out how to use his phone in Japan. But Andrew feels like it’ll become a chore, like he’ll become a burden. He wants Dan to be able to enjoy his trip, to not have to worry about checking in with Andrew when he should be basking in the glory of his beloved cherry blossoms as they bloom. 

“So, what? Is this...is this it?” Dan asks, tears in his eyes. He buries his face in Andrew’s neck. “I don’t want us to be over.”

“We’re not over,” Andrew murmurs into his hair, smoothing a hand up and down his back. “We’re both going to be so busy. I don’t want either of us to resent the other if one of us can’t hold up our end. Let’s just...let’s just run free. Have some fun. And then September will be here before we know it.”

“This is what you really want?” Dan sniffs miserably and Andrew’s chest constrics, pushing the air out of his lungs and it feels like his heart is going to beat right through his ribs.

He squeezes Dan tighter and nudges his temple with the tip of his nose. “It’s what I think will be easier, in the long run.”

They share a kiss that is equal parts melancholy and passionate. And when Dan pulls Andrew into his bed and fucks him like it’s the last time, it feels like goodbye. For the first time, Andrew doesn’t stay the night. Once Dan is asleep, face buried in his pillow, his dark hair askew and his shoulders rising and falling in deep, measured breaths, Andrew gets up and puts on his clothes. He leaves a note that says he’ll think about Dan every day, and that September can’t come fast enough.


	7. Summer 2005 - Summer 2006

Andrew hardly has any time to think about Dan. He and Benj work long hours, and when the work day is done and he gets home at night, he collapses into bed, only to get up at the crack of dawn to do it all over again. His weekends are spent catching up on sleep, catching up on life and responsibilities. He takes his laundry to his parents’ place and lets his mom feed him and watches baseball with his dad. 

And he doesn’t think about Dan. Because it hurts too much. Because the longer he goes without seeing Dan, or hearing from him, the more he feels like Dan is his “the one that got away”, which Andrew realizes is ridiculous, because he's is the one who told him to go.

By the time classes begin again, Andrew feels like he’s ready to vibrate out of his skin. He’s nervous and excited in equal measure. He hasn’t had a single text from Dan all summer and he’s afraid to reach out to him first. He spent the entire summer regretting how he’d left things, pushing Dan away. He spends many a sleepless night examining why he’d done it. He comes to the realization that he’d wanted to avoid the pain of Dan meeting someone better—taller, sexier, funnier—on his exotic world travels, so he’d cut the ties between them to save himself the pain. He’s thinks about whether it was a classic case of self-sabotage, or if he can get away with calling it self-preservation.

He’s sitting in the old familiar classroom, and Benj is there, urging Andrew to join him in regaling Kelsey with stories of their tyrannical summer employer, when the hairs on the back of Andrew’s neck stand on end and he turns to see Dan slip into the class. He has the most intense feeling of dejà vu. Dan is still distractingly gorgeous, and he smiles uncertainly at Andrew and his cohorts. Andrew hasn’t seen him smile like that since before that fateful night in his kitchen, when they had finally admitted what they meant to one another. Andrew’s breakfast churns in his stomach. 

Before Andrew can get his flustered brain to think of something to say to break the ice, Jermaine bursts into the classroom and begins waxing rhapsodic on the joys of Post Production. Andrew clenches his jaw when he asks them to break into teams, but then Dan is turning to him, one glorious eyebrow raised in question, and Andrew can almost breathe normally again.

After class, Dan asks Andrew for coffee. They grab their beverages to go and find a shady spot with a bench and sit, side by side, and sip their drinks. The silence between them is deafening and awkward, and Andrew wants to fill it with apologies and explanations. But then he sees the way Dan’s jaw is clenched tight and behind his glasses, his eyes are wet.

“I, um...I practiced what I was going to say to you,” Dan says, and his voice is rough and thick. He clears his throat and swipes a knuckle under his eye. “And then I saw you today, and all the things I wanted to say just—” He laughs, but it’s hollow and it echoes in Andrew’s ears. “But then I saw you today and I thought ‘there he is. That’s the Andrew I know. You’re still you. You’re not the guy that broke my heart and left me in the middle of the night.” He looks at Andrew then, his eyes wide and wounded and Andrew would give anything to go back and undo that entire night. He had been able to convince himself that he was the only one getting hurt, but seeing the pain on Dan’s face, in his eyes, it’s too much. Something inside Andrew breaks. He thinks it might be his heart.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says when he finally regains the power of speech. 

“And yet here we are,” Dan bites back. 

Andrew doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he should start with an apology. “I’m so sorry.”

Dan nods. “I know.” He brings his coffee to his mouth, pausing before he takes a sip. “Doesn’t make it any easier to hear, though.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Dan sips his coffee, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. “I’ve spent the last couple of years in and out of relationships. I haven’t been single for more than a few weeks since I started dating, until this summer. And as much as what you did hurt me, I think I needed that freedom. And I think that I need to have some time on my own, here, back in my real life.” He turns to Andrew and his expression is guarded but certain. “I know you said that we'd pick things up again when summer was over, but I don't think I can do that. I don’t want to be in a relationship. I feel like I need to prove to myself that I don’t need someone in my life to make me feel fulfilled.”

Andrew nods, blinking hard to keep his tears at bay. He wishes, more than anything, that he could go back and undo what he had done. “Are we...can we still be friends?” He doesn’t know how he gets the words out, his throat is so tight, but somehow he does and the corner of Dan’s mouth twitches.

“I’d like that,” he says.

Working together after that is hard. Seeing Dan almost every day, retracing the familiar steps of their partnership, but knowing that when night comes, they will go their separate ways, is torturous. There are a few moments when he thinks maybe—just maybe—there could be something between them again. A look from Dan, a touch that lingers a moment too long. But they always pass.

In October, just after Thanksgiving, Andrew’s roommates throw a party. He stands in a corner nursing his beer and watching as couples writhe together to the deep, pulsing beat of the music in their cramped living room. Even with all of the furniture pushed against the walls, it’s shoulder-to-shoulder, and it’s hot and it smells like overheated bodies and stale booze. He drains his beer and heads to the kitchen, sliding open the door to the balcony and grabbing a fresh one from the cooler. He’s lost count of how many he’s had. Is this his third? Maybe his fourth? As he cracks it open, he hears a voice behind him. 

“You mind grabbing one for me?”

He turns to see Dan standing in his kitchen, looking fucking devastating, and it must show on his face, because then Dan’s right in front of him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him, deep and slow, and God, Andrew’s missed this. He can taste something fruity on Dan’s tongue. He knows it’s not a Cosmopolitan because no one here knows how to make one. Maybe it’s one of those fruity coolers he typically favours when his alcohol of choice isn’t available. Whatever it is, Andrew doesn’t care. Because Dan is here and Dan is kissing him. He pushes Dan up against the counter and gets his hands up under his shirt, his fingers settling against the familiar jut of his hips.

“Dan,” he breathes, his mouth moving to press desperate kisses along his jaw, his lips buzzing as they rasp over the stubble he’s been cultivating since he came back from New York. “God, I miss you.”

“I know,” Dan murmurs, winding his arms around his neck and pulling him close, closer. He presses his face into Andrew’s shoulder. Then he’s taking Andrew’s face in his hands again—those big, soft, expressive hands—and he holds Andrew’s gaze with those dark eyes. “I miss you too. So much.” He leans in and presses his lips to Andrew’s temple. “I know you want more, Andrew. I know you do. But I-I’m still...I’m still not ready. It still hurts. But I miss you. And I want you.”

Andrew’s brow furrows. “What are you saying? You want...just sex?”

Dan nods, then frowns and shakes his head. “Yes. No. I don’t know,” he says after some thought. “I just know I don’t want to complicate things. When we were friends, it wasn’t complicated.”

 _It was for me,_ Andrew wants to say, but he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Dan’s chin and lets out a long, slow breath. “I don’t want to lose you again.” Dan makes a small, wounded sound and his arms wind around Andrew’s shoulders. He angles his chin down so he can kiss his forehead. “Would it be a mistake...just once? Just this one time?” He looks up at Dan again. “Because I want you, Dan. I miss you and I want to feel you again, even if it is just for tonight.”

Dan nods and then he bends his head and kisses Andrew again, and it’s urgent and pleading and a little desperate. Andrew lets his hands slide down Dan’s back, over his ass to grab his thighs, earning a squeak of surprise as he lifts Dan right off his feet.

“Holy fuck,” Dan gasps, wrapping his long legs around Andrew’s waist and digging his fingers into his shoulders as Andrew carries him down the hall, bypassing the party still going on in his living room, and into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.

In the morning, they go their separate ways and neither of them mentions it again. Over Christmas, Andrew meets Gavin. He’s cute and sweet, smart and funny. And he _likes_ Andrew. A lot. And Andrew likes him too. They go on a few dates, and on New Year’s eve, Gavin kisses him. And it’s nice. Everything with Gavin is nice. It’s not earth shattering. There are no fireworks going off in his head. Not like there always was with Dan. But it’s good to feel wanted by someone again. It’s nice not to be lonely. 

When classes resume in January, Andrew tells Dan about Gavin. The smile on Dan’s face is genuine as he tells Andrew he’s happy for him and that he hopes Gavin is everything he was looking for. Andrew thanks him, tells him that Gavin makes him happy. He doesn’t tell him that he has to bite his tongue sometimes, to keep himself from calling Dan’s name when they’re together. Or that sometimes Gavin is so nice, it makes Andrew yearn for Dan’s acerbic wit. He doesn’t tell him that Gavin’s one fatal flaw is that _he’s not Dan._

The rest of the school year passes in a blur. Dan and Andrew are both bogged down with projects, made all the more intense with graduation looming only a few months away. Gavin complains that Andrew never has time for him, and he’s right. He’s got major projects on the go for three different classes and he spends late nights in the editing suite with Kelsey and Benj and Dan, giggling and delirious with exhaustion. He’s up at the crack of dawn on weekends, shooting additional footage or writing scenes for his screenwriting class. He makes promises he knows he won’t be able to keep, vowing that he’ll make it up to Gavin in the summer. He’ll be done with school and they can spend days upon days lounging in bed, or checking out vintage record shops, because apparently that’s something Gavin is into.

With three weeks left in the semester, Andrew is hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table while his roommates are all sound asleep like the sane, responsible students they are, when there’s a knock at the door. His head snaps up and he frowns. It’s 2am on a Tuesday night. Who could possibly—

“Dan!” he exclaims when he peers through the peephole. He pulls open the door and Dan offers a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. I know it’s late,” he says. He looks like he just rolled out of bed himself, sleep-rumpled and achingly gorgeous. “I just...I needed to talk to someone and you were the only person I could think of that might still be up.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Andrew says, stifling a yawn and gesturing for Dan to come in. He closes the door as Dan perches on the arm of the couch. When Andrew sits down beside him, Dan pops up and begins to pace back and forth in front of him, wringing his hands together agitatedly. “You okay?”

“I...maybe?” is Dan’s enigmatic answer. He rakes his fingers through his hair causing it to stand out in adorable little tufts at all angles, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint Andrew possesses not to reach out and smooth down the unruly strands into Dan’s more familiar, polished style. He pivots on his heel and puts his hands on his hips, staring down at Andrew with wide eyes. “I got a job offer,” he says. “With _MTV Canada.”_

 _“What?!”_ Andrew shouts, then winces, listening for any sign that he’d disturbed his slumbering roommates. Then he looks up at Dan and grins, wide and proud. “Holy shit, Dan. Holy shit!”

Dan just shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “They want me to start next week.”

“But...finals are in only a couple of weeks. Our project—”

“I know. _I know!”_ Dan’s fingers are in his hair again and he sits down heavily on the milk crate coffee table, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, fingers pushed up under his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I mean...can they give you the extra couple of weeks to finish school? You’re so close, Dan! You can’t just...you worked so hard. You worked too hard to just give up now.”

“But I did all that work so I _could_ get a job like this!” Dan says, getting to his feet again. “And they want me. _Now._ They have an on-air spot they want me to fill, and it starts next week. Andrew, if I pass this up...opportunities like this don’t come along every day. I think I have to say yes.”

Andrew shakes his head. One the one hand, he’s happy for his friend. He knows that if Dan takes this opportunity, he’ll make the most of it. He won’t waste it, he'll work hard and he'll be great and frankly, MTV would be lucky to have him. But on the other...Andrew was already dreading the end of the school year. There would be no more excuses to be around Dan, to press close to him as they argued over fonts for the closing credits, or to cram themselves together on his stupidly tiny loveseat pouring over notes, on the precipice of beginning a new project together. On the edge of something great. And now, it’s going to be over far too soon, and he’s not ready. He’s not ready to say goodbye for real.

“So, when—” His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. “When would you be...when would be your last day?”

“Friday.” 

“That’s so soon!”

“I know,” Dan sighs. He reaches out and puts a hand on Andrew’s knee. “And look, I’ll do as much as I can before I go, okay? I’ll make sure you have all my notes. You need to get a good grade for the both of us, okay? I can...I can work on it over the weekend with you. I’ll have all weekend, and then you just have the last two weeks to put on the finishing touches. You can even use that fucking font you love so much, even though you know it’s an assault against good taste.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. It’s a familiar argument, and for the first time in a long time, he feels that they’re back in that comfortable place, where they can poke and tease one another without having to tread so carefully. It’s nice. It’s too bad it’s come so late. Too late.

On Friday, Dan is in the workroom gathering up his things. Andrew finds him flipping through his leather journal, a fond smile playing at the corners of his lips. He looks up when Andrew knocks gently on the doorframe and his smile spreads, wide and open, his dimples on full display. God. He’s going to do so well at MTV. 

“Hey,” Andrew says. He joins Dan at the long worktable where he’s sorting through the detritus that he has collected over the past two years. Spread out on the table is the outline of their time together, the good and the bad, in Dan’s neat block lettering. “So. Monday’s the big day.”

“Yeah,” Dan says with a shaky breath, and Andrew can hear his nerves. He gestures to his mess. “You want any of this? I don’t...I don’t know what I’m going to do with it all.”

“You realize I have copies of all of this, right? Why would I want your duplicates? I don’t need your sloppy seconds.”

“Wow,” Dan barks out a laugh. He grins at Andrew and shakes his head. “And excuse me! Who says my seconds are sloppy?”

Andrew just raises his eyebrows, causing Dan to throw his hands in the air. “So fucking rude,” he grumbles, but Andrew can see the fond amusement in his eyes. He’s going to miss that.

“Anyway, I just came to wish you luck,” Andrew says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels, his eyes darting between Dan’s face and anywhere else. “And...and I wanted to say that I’m gonna miss you.”

When he looks back at Dan, there are tears in his eyes. “Andrew,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “I was never the best student. And school has always been kind of a horrible, anxiety inducing hell for me.” He takes off his glasses and swipes at his eyes, then carefully returns them to his face. “But, um, y-you made my life here survivable, which is really saying something. And I know I said I didn’t want...that I wasn’t ready...And I know you have Gavin.” He waves his hands around, like he’s waving off his words, like they’re not important. Like they’re nothing. “But, I need you to know how important you are to me. And I hope that if you ever need a friend...I hope you’ll call me.”

And then he takes Andrew’s face in his big, gentle hands, and he kisses him. It’s soft, and achingly sweet, and filled with regret and hope and the entire spectrum of emotions in between. Andrew never wants it to end. But it does, and all too soon, Dan is pulling away and offering Andrew a watery smile as he shoves everything on the table into his shoulder bag and then he's gone.

A few months later, Andrew is sitting alone at home late one night, flipping idly through the channels on his TV, and he sees Dan and a bubbly redhead talking excitedly about some show that he’s never heard of called _The Hills_. Dan looks gorgeous. Andrew feels that familiar pull of longing. Once again, he hasn’t let himself think about Dan, because it hurts too much. It hurts even more now that he and Gavin decided to end things. Because even though school is over, Andrew still hasn’t been able to make time for him. 

He reaches for his phone, but puts it down again. Dan is busy. And Andrew has a short-film coming out soon that will take him all over the country, into the states. Maybe even around the world. He doesn’t want to get either of their hopes up, only to disappoint one or both of them again. They both deserve so much better than that. 

He puts his phone away.


	8. Epilogue

**Toronto  
January 2017**

  
They sit across from one another at a little hole in the wall diner. It’s another _Dan Levy hidden gem,_ where the ambience is questionable but the food is amazing. Dan is smiling at Andrew over the largest stack of pancakes he’s ever seen. Not only are they stacked four high, but each pancake is the size of Dan’s head and slathered in butter and syrup. And he’s making noises that should really be confined to the bedroom, moaning and licking his lips, eyes closed in pure bliss. It’s a lot. It’s not enough. It’s everything Andrew has been missing for the last ten years.

“You missed a spot,” Andrew quips as Dan uses a napkin to wipe a glob of wayward syrup from his chin. Dan glares at him, and when he pulls the napkin away, little fibres of the cheap paper remain stuck to his five o’clock shadow. It’s ten thirty in the morning.

“Fuck you,” Dan laughs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small pack of wet wipes. He pulls one out and runs it over the stubborn spot where syrup and beard and napkin have fused together semi-permanently on his face. He does the best he can, and gets most of it. Dan crumples up the wipe and places it on his now-empty plate. “God. I always tell myself that I don’t have to finish the whole thing here. I can take some of it home. Somehow that never happens.” He blushes and runs a self-conscious hand over his stomach.

“You look good, Dan,” Andrew assures him. He wants to tell him that he looks better than good. He looks great. He’d looked great when they met in New York in the fall and if it’s at all possible, Andrew thinks he might look even better now. The sharp lines of his face have softened over the years, rounding out his features. His cheekbones could still cut glass and his smile should be registered as a lethal weapon, but his overall look is softer. He seems more settled, more comfortable in his own skin. Today his hair is hidden beneath a grey toque, perched on his head at an off-kilter angle and Andrew wants to ask if Dan actually knows that’s not how hats work. But he keeps that thought to himself, because it’s actually kind of cute. His clothes are baggier than he used to wear them, an oversized hoodie and a pair of dark jeans with rips in the knees that seem counterproductive to keeping away the bone-chilling cold that is Toronto in January. He looks cozy, but chic. And Andrew thinks if ever there were two words to describe Dan, well. Those are the ones.

Dan smiles, and something deep inside Andrew’s chest clenches at those fucking dimples. They always were his Achilles’ heel. “So do you,” Dan says quietly. “Are you...I mean, please feel free to tell me to mind my own fucking business, but are you seeing anyone?”

Andrew shakes his head. “No. You?”

Dan grimaces. “God no. No one would want me.” Andrew begs to differ, but holds his tongue. “I work almost 20 hour days, eight days a week and I haven’t had more than a few days off in a row in almost four years. So.” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Besides, I like my life. I don’t have to worry about accommodating anyone else’s opinions, there’s no one asking me for more than I can give.” His eyes flick worriedly in Andrew’s direction at his words. 

“Same,” Andrew says. Memories of the constant bickering with Gavin and so many partners since flash through his mind. “I haven’t found anyone yet who gets it either.” He doesn’t add that, on those rare occasions where it seemed like his workaholic tendencies weren’t such a huge obstacle for his partners, they still never seem to make the cut. Because everyone he’s ever dated since those final two years at Ryerson has always been compared to one person. And they’ve always come up short. There is only one Daniel Levy. Everything else feels like settling, and Andrew values himself too much to settle.

Dan waits patiently as Andrew makes a valiant effort to finish his meal, but in the end, he has to ask their server for a box to pack up almost half. They chat about life, and eventually, they talk about the show. It’s amazing to Andrew, how uncertain Dan seems about himself in his personal life. But when it comes to the show, he knows exactly what he wants. His ideas are big and specific. He plans every detail, down to the amount of wear and tear on the dingy motel room carpets. It’s impressive. And intimidating.

Worry prickles at the back of Andrew’s mind. The people working on the show have been doing this for so long now. It seems like a well-oiled machine, and he has his doubts that he’ll fit in. They’re all so close, and Andrew is an outsider, an old pal of Dan’s that he’s bringing in. He doesn’t want it to look like favouritism. He wants to make sure he earns his place. And he says so to Dan. "And I’m just not sure how that will work. My medium has always been film, whether short or long format. I have exactly zero experience in TV.”

“Listen,” Dan says, pointing the spoon he’d been using to stir his coffee in Andrew’s face. “That’s exactly why I want you. I know you, and I know what you can do, what you can bring to the table. I’ve seen it firsthand. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you were right for the job, or that you wouldn’t fit in.”

“Well. When you put it that way, how can I say no?” 

“You can’t,” Dan says definitively, his smile wide and disarming. 

“I guess not.”

Dan pays their bill, leaving a generous tip for their server, and they step outside into the frigid winter air. Andrew shivers, wishing he’d brought a heavier coat, or at least a scarf. His car is parked a few blocks away, probably blocked in behind a pile of snow left behind by the plow. He is not looking forward to digging it out.

“God, you poor thing,” Dan says, putting his hands on Andrew’s shoulders and giving them a warming rub. “Do you want to come up? I’m only a block away, and I have tea and snacks and I have a few more notes to show you since the preliminary ones I sent you in the fall.” The expression on Dan’s face—what Andrew can see buried beneath his ridiculous toque and the comically large scarf bundled up over his chin—is hopeful. 

He looks down at his sneakers, already soaked through and his mittenless hands. “Sure,” he says. Dan beams at him, or at least Andrew _thinks_ he does. It’s hard to tell with the scarf. 

He follows Dan down the street to his building. The ride in the elevator to his floor is long and quiet. But it’s not uncomfortable. Just the opposite, in fact. It’s the first time in a long time that Andrew has been quiet with another person without the pressing need to fill the silence with words. It’s nice. It’s relaxing. 

When Dan opens his apartment door, Andrew is pleased to see that he has upgraded since their days at Ryerson. His place is open and airy, with what he knows must be a beautiful view of the lake and downtown, even though it’s barely visible in the snow. They get out of their cold, wet coats and shoes and Dan throws Andrew’s socks in the dryer and puts his leftovers in the fridge. Andrew catches a glimpse of the contents of Dan’s fridge and has to suppress a smile. It’s still all condiments and boxes of random takeout containers. Dan catches his look and rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, even though Andrew hadn’t said a word. “I can cook. Technically. I just choose not to because it’s safer for everyone.”

“Of course,” Andrew deadpans, grinning at Dan. “Wouldn’t want to have the fire department show up only to find you tried to commit arson by pancake.”

Dan nudges him with his elbow, then he smirks. “I’ve seen their calendar though. It would be worth a little light arson.”

Dan makes them tea, proving that he can at least boil water without any pyrotechnics, and they head into the living room where Dan’s laptop is lying on the coffee table. Dan’s couch is much longer now, with room for both of them to spread out. But they still find themselves pressed together from knee to shoulder in the centre. With his belly full of good food and the warmth of Dan’s friendship rekindling in his chest, Andrew feels a little overwhelmed. It feels like they’ve picked up right where they left off. Except it's better now, because there's the buffer of time and experience to shelter them from the hurt feelings and the unnecessary complications. 

Andrew turns his head to look at Dan. He’s gesturing animatedly as he tries to explain this scene with what he envisions as the saddest little Christmas tree, but Andrew can’t think about the tree right now. All he can think about is how much he wants to kiss Dan. And how scared he is to try. But then Dan goes quiet and his body stills as he turns to Andrew. 

“Can I, um...can I get you a drink?” Dan asks. The tea Dan had made with such fanfare sits cold and nearly untouched on the table.

“It’s barely noon, Dan,” Andrew points out. He leans in, just a bit. Hardly at all. Dan probably won’t even notice.

Dan notices. He licks his lips, and Andrew thinks that maybe, he leans in a little too. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Dan replies, his voice laced with something that Andrew hopes is longing.

“I didn’t come here for a drink, Dan,” Andrew says, feeling brave. He inches forward, tilting his head in invitation, his lips parted.

“I know,” Dan replies, and then he closes the distance between them. His lips are soft, his touch is gentle. Andrew is tired of gentle. He’s spent ten years hardly daring to dream that he might get to do this again, to kiss Dan, to taste him. He tastes like syrup and butter and earl grey. He tastes like late night pizza and crappy chinese food and Cosmopolitans and too much coffee. He tastes like all the things Andrew has always associated with him. He tastes like the one that got away, and Andrew hopes he tastes like tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that. Because Andrew has had enough stale yesterdays. He’s looking to the future, and if he looks closely enough, he thinks he sees Dan in it. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not have happened if it hadn't been for NeelyO and her constant cheerleading, flailing, and the occasional "go fuck yourself, Delilah." Thanks for beta-ing your own prompt. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. You knew what you were getting into.
> 
> Also, thanks to all the RPF fans at the Rosebudd. Your enthusiasm for Dandrew was overwhelming and I hope you all enjoy! And finally, thanks to BWR for being absolutely no help at all. Just the worst. 10/10 would not recommend. (It's all lies. She was very helpful and motivating).
> 
> And finally, thanks to you, lovely readers! I hope you've enjoyed. It was a challenge and a joy to write this story, and I may have a few ideas for future _Dandrew_ stories, so please let me know if that's something you'd like to see. 
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> D McM


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